


Let Me Go and I'll Let You Down

by babylouis



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anorexia, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hospitalization, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nothing Hurts, ana - Freeform, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, sorry i suck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:00:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylouis/pseuds/babylouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis falls, and Harry doesn't catch him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Go and I'll Let You Down

**Author's Note:**

> sorry?? i'm tragic
> 
> and i would like to thank my best friend, remy, for helping me edit this and being such a big help!!!  
> check out his tumblr- georgehwkush

The first time Harry starts to notice Louis slipping is a late saturday night. Louis and Harry are all cuddled up on the couch, legs entangled and their fingers laced together.

Like that, they fit. They soar. 

It’s not Harry, and it’s not Louis, but it’s LouisandHarry, because that’s just how it’s always been. It’s not necessarily a good thing. Louis is sharp, and he’s a ticking time bomb, and one wrong step is the end of the world. He’s a hurricane that tears and damages everything around him when things go wrong, a perfectionist without much motivation, which isn’t the best mix. Harry is quite the opposite as he is soft around the edges and thick and smooth like honey. There are no outbursts, and he is always predictable. He puts up with Louis, and Louis tolerates Harry. They work, but they don’t.

Somehow their life together has a will to stay vibrant. 

Harry is mindlessly tracing slow, careful patterns on Louis’s tummy. He always likes to tease Louis about the soft pudge, and that always gets Louis all angry and riled up, and Harry might enjoy it just a little. He might enjoy the way Louis’ eyes widen and the way he squirms as Louis shoves Harry off of him with a deep scowl. Louis the ticking time bomb. Harry has grown a habit of getting as much of a rise out of him as possible. He’s not directly mean, but he just has to deal with Louis’ anger problems anyway, doesn’t he? 

When Louis shoves him off this time however, he doesn’t say a word. He simply moves away from Harry and keeps his eyes on the screen. Harry can tell he’s trying to act subtle, but he’s also known Louis for thirteen years, since first grade when he’d given Harry a good punch in the face for accidentally getting their lunch boxes mixed up and eating Louis’ favorite snack. He’s been Louis’ punching bag since then, but also his lover and his other half, and that makes up for it. 

”You okay?” Harry rasps out, reaching out to trace his long fingers down Louis’s bicep. Louis scowls. 

”Just- Fuck, don’t fucking touch my stomach. I tell you that all the damn time, and I’m not fucking around. Stop.” He mutters, his voice bitter. 

That silences Harry. He looks over at the screen, shifting just a little before he dares a glance over at Louis again.  
”How come you haven’t eaten any pizza? I ordered it with chicken for your sake,” he mumbles, huffing out a little breath. Harry chose chicken over pepperoni which is his own favorite, and the selfish prick isn’t even eating it. How typical. How Louis.

Louis simply rolls his eyes, shaking his head. ”You like chicken,” He states, cuddling up with his pillow. Harry huffs.

”I like pepperoni better.”

”You like pepperoni better because you know I hate pepperoni.”

”Why do you always have to be such an arse?” 

And it’s– this is normal. They always do this. They argue, they fight, they fucking battle. Sometimes it’s plates being thrown, and other times it’s spending the night on the couch, or even spending a week over at Zayn’s. It’s- this is normal.

But Louis stops talking. He sits for a while, and then he stands up, his jaw clenched. ”I’m going to bed. Make sure Alice has water, or I’ll slit your fucking throat while you sleep.” 

Harry sometimes wonders if Louis loves their cat more than he loves Harry. Then again, he wonders if it’s possible to love anybody more than Alice. 

He sits for a long time after Louis’s left, contemplating. He doesn’t understand. He stares blankly at the screen for a long time before he gets up, almost in a rush. Of course. Of course, how stupid can he be? 

He doesn’t bother to clean up or turn the lights off as he makes his way down the small hall and opens the door to their bedroom. Without hesitation, he makes his way over and sinks down in the bed next to Louis, and there it is. The quiet, shushed, and choked sobs Louis is releasing into his pillows. Louis might be a little fighter, and that may be a good thing, but he refuses to show his weak sides. He hates to come off as vulnerable, he hates sympathy, and he hates when people see him cry. 

Without a word, Harry slowly lies down next to him, his arms folding around Louis’ petite body and embracing him, his nose nuzzled into his neck. He visibly feels Louis moulding into him, melting into his chest, because yeah, this is how it was supposed to be, how they were supposed to be. Louis’s crying is slowly turning into sniffles as Harry holds him, hugging him tight and stroking his hip slowly. An hour that feels like an eternity passes before Louis goes all heavy and cuddly, and Harry realizes he’s fallen asleep. He gently kisses his neck and thinks that maybe things are moderately okay. They’ll be okay. 

Harry had no idea how wrong he was. 

-

It starts out as a gentle, rumbling current. 

”I look fat in this,” Louis would say. 

”Look, I have a roll when I sit. It’s fucking disgusting.”

Harry laughs it off. 

Then it starts coming in tides, slowly flooding the streets, slowly beginning to become a bother, an annoyance. 

”Fuck, look. I fucking jiggle when I walk.”

Louis stops making love to Harry. He stops laughing. He stops and when he does, it’s roaring waves. Louis doesn’t want to get out of bed. He doesn’t even want to argue anymore. Louis cries a lot, and Harry starts to avoid him.

They slip when things becomes like tsunami waves. Louis looks more at calorie counts than he looks at his own boyfriend. He loses his job, and that’s when Harry can see through his frustration, his pent up anger for his boyfriend and sees his bones. He sees his ribs, and he sees the way his stomach dips in, the way his things go inward from the knees. He sees everything, and that’s the first time Harry holds Louis in months. 

 

-

It’s a rainy Sunday morning, and Louis is burrowed in Harry’s chest, curled up like a sleepy kitten and clinging onto him as if it is for dear life. Harry wishes he could smile at that, wishes he could wake him with a soft kiss and maybe make a large breakfast for him. But that’s not how things work, and Harry knows this. He’s– well, he’s adapted. Louis doesn’t sleep often anymore and when he does, Harry tries to do anything in his power to keep him that way. Louis loves rain, and even though he doesn’t say much anymore, his face still lights up some. Harry carefully removes the blanket covering the two of them, eyeing their entangled legs. It’s such a contrast, now. See, Louis used to have these beautiful, thick, lovely, tan legs. Now they’re almost paler than Harry’s, and they’re sticks. They’re so thin. Harry worries that they might snap when Louis stands, but he never dares say anything. Louis doesn’t let him, anyway. Harry Lets his eyes slowly trail up, and his eyes come to a hault. His hips are so prominent that to be quite honest, Harry could probably map out his skeleton. That’s all that is left of him: a shell. 

Harry is running his fingers over Louis’s ribs when he wakens, his eyebrows knotted together. ”Stop,” He whispers quietly, pushing Harry’s hand off. 

”Good morning,” Harry mumbles quietly, forcing a small, almost fake smile. Louis only hums in response as he glances over at the window, the corners of his lips quirking up a little.

”It’s raining,” He whispers, and Harry tries not to think about how Louis would probably drag Harry out of the house to fuck around a year ago. He tries not to think how things have changed so drastically. Harry sometimes thinks he may be with a different person at this point. 

”It is,” Harry mumbles, stroking his back as he sighs, ”We should go out. Go to a café, maybe?” he suggests, setting Louis aside and rubbing over his eyes. 

”I think I’ll pass.”

”Of course you will.”

Louis doesn’t answer, and Harry leaves the room. It’s fucking suffocating him. That’s what it is. 

Louis comes down when Harry’s dishing up some breakfast, a deep frown on his features. He’s drowning in one of Harry’s jumpers, curiously peeking around him to see what Harry has made before he scrunches his nose up and pours himself a glass of water. 

”How much bacon do you want?” Harry asks. He tries to sound casual, tries to make it sound like this is normal, that Louis eats every day.

”I’m not hungry,” He murmurs.

”You planning on becoming even more disgusting than your body already is?” Harry mumbles, and it’s like- they used to do this all the time, so Harry doesn’t think much of it. At least, not until Louis drops the glass and stares at Harry, eyes wide and clearly shocked.

”Fuck,” Harry mumbles as he reaches up, rubbing over his eyes. It doesn’t get more melodramatic than this. 

”You think I’m disgusting?” Louis asks, and his voice is tiny, barely above a whisper. He suddenly looks so small in Harry’s eyes, so fucking shattered and lost, and Harry’s already feeling the guilt boiling in his stomach.

”I mean- it’s not- I mean, you’re not disgusting, but it’s- it’s kind of gross just to- you know, to be that skinny is kind of gross,” He mumbles. He’s trying, he really is, but Louis needs to hear. He needs to understand.

”I’m not skinny,” Louis says quietly, eyes falling down to the floor as he fumbles with the hem of Harry’s jumper. ”I’m not skinny. Why would you even- why-.” He himself off and looks away, his eyebrows furrowed. 

”Where are you, Louis?” Harry asks, and his voice is soft now, stepping closer to Louis, coming closer and almost hovering above him.  
”Where are you? Where did you go?” He whispers, his hand reaching up to cup Louis’s small, sunken face. Louis doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes, his breathing unsteady as he shakes his head.  
”You don’t understand anything. Don’t touch me,” He hisses, slapping Harry’s hand away.

”How the hell am I supposed to understand, Louis?! How am I supposed to understand when you won't even talk to me anymore?!” He’s screaming now, and Louis takes a step back, almost cowering away in a way.

”Well, you could at least try you blind fucking piece of shit!” He roars back at him, his eyes flashing as he steps forward again and for a bit, Harry sees the old Louis, the one that fights, the one that battles to the death.

”How am I a piece of shit, Louis?! Tell me how I’m a piece of shit, you fucking ungrateful- you don’t even give a shit. You’re just moping around for no reason and making life harder for everybody around you! Do you even care that nobody is inviting us to anything anymore? It’s all because of you!” He shouts in his face, fists clenched. He can tell Louis is about to cry, notes his trembling bottom lip and his glassy eyes. Harry convinces himself that this is good. He’s gotten to his core, and this is good. 

”You don’t understand,” He whispers, his voice nearly inaudible. ”You don’t understand, Harry. I’m all alone,” He mumbles quietly.

Harry has to take a deep breath not to give Louis a good punch in the face. ”I’ve been here all along, Louis. I’m always here. Don’t you know that? If I wasn’t- If I didn’t love you as much as I unfortunately do, I would’ve left. Do you know that? You scare me so fucking much, and-”

”Don’t you think I’m scared too?” Louis cuts in, and tears are streaking his cheeks, rolling down slowly and dripping down onto Harry’s jumper. 

”I’m all alone in this, Harry. I’m all alone, and I’m battling this by myself. There’s- I have voices. There’s voices and they keep me up by myself all night. They’re- They’re tearing me apart, and they’re ruining everything,” He whispers, voice almost distant. Harry shakes his head, stares down at his feet.

”I think we should break up.”

It’s just a sentence. It’s just a sentence, it really is, but it’s not. It’s a bomb that’s been there all along, waiting to blow up in Louis’s face, waiting to give him the final push out of reality and into insanity. That’s all it is. 

-

It’s been five months. 

Five months since he left his and Louis’ dingy apartment. FIve months since Louis had cried and begged He’d even shoved an entire sandwich down his throat to show Harry he was going to stop, as if to prove that he he could be better, get better for him. Five months since he’s shut the door behind him, shut the book of thirteen years with the boy he’d once, at one time, loved so unconditionally and started a new chapter. 

He’s happier now, or he convinces himself that he is. He didn’t expect to immediately feel relief exactly, but he probably expected a little more than this. He still worries about Louis, worries that maybe he won’t have three missed calls from four in the morning or drunken texts when he wakes up. He would love to say that Louis’ desperate texts and calls are annoying, but if he’s being honest, they’re only assuring. Louis is maybe low, but he’s still there.

After Harry moved out, he’s bought himself a nicer apartment, because well, he can. He has been promoted at work because since he doesn’t have an emotional mess of a boyfriend to take care of. He can actually focus on himself. Neither he or Louis went to college, so he realizes that he’ll probably never have anything nicer than this, but it’s fine. It Really is. He’s finally gotten his life back together. He goes out, and he gets drunk, and he maybe even has one night stands. He doesn’t feel guilty like he used to, and he’s becoming better. He’s building himself up. 

It’s a friday night, and he’s just arrived at the local club with Nick and Niall. Even though they’ve already had a few drinks, Harry feels uneasy almost. Louis hasn’t said a thing in three days, and he just- he feels like shit. 

”You alright, mate?” Niall grins, smacking him on the back as they make their way through the sweaty crowd, eyes lit up like fucking lanterns. He’s always so happy. He's always grinning, and smiling, and laughing. But tonight, Harry can’t deal with it. It’s terrifying, almost. He feels sick to his stomach, feels like he’s going to throw up. Which is why he grabs Niall by the shoulder, tugging him back. ”I’m gonna go, yeah? I don’t feel too good,” he shouts over the music. Before Niall can start pouting, and huffing, and convincing him to stay, Harry’s shoving his way out, pulling his phone out with a shaky hand. He steps out into the chilly weather with a sniffle, and it’s fucking cold but Harry is too. Even if it’s a shit metaphor, Harry understands it, and that’s all that matters. He blindly dials the number he knows better than his own, before he desperately presses the phone to his ear, terribly, anxiously desperate. 

Louis answers on the seventh ring, but it’s not an answer, it’s not even a quiet 'hi.' It’s a sob for fuck’s sake, and Harry’s stomach is twisting. 

”Louis?” he whispers, staring blankly down at his feet. His boots are torn, and there are so many holes that he can’t quite count all of them, but they make him think about how Louis had bought them for him when he was still- when he was sane. When he was Louis. His Louis. 

”Louis,” Harry states more clearlt, and it’s not a question anymore. Louis is crying, and Harry hasn’t realized how he’s already running, already sprinting across the road and down the path that takes him to their old apartment. He drops his phone to the concrete and running, but not quite realizing how quickly his heart is beating. When he’s at their door, his hands are shaking so bad that he can barely get the door open, can barely twist the doorknob and stumble inside. The first thing he notices is that the apartment smells like shit. It smells disgusting and rotten, and Harry literally has to take a step back so he won't suffocate. He brings his sleeve up to his nose and mouth as he steps inside, looking around the tiny apartment. There’s nothing. Sniffling a little, he makes his way into the kitchen, and his stomach twists. There’s rotten food standing all over the counters, and a fucking glass of milk he’d made, but only drank half way and left on the counter is still settled there, almost in a taunting way. ”Louis?” Harry calls out quietly, a silence in the apartment that scares him, almost haunts him in a way. He’s about to turn around and try the bedroom when he notices Alice mewling quietly. She's bone thin and making her way slowly into the kitchen with wide, hopeful eyes. She’s absolutely filthy, and Harry realizes Louis couldn't have fed her in ages. If she’s been living off of this grime, then she’s probably very sick. He leans down, picks her up, and strokes her ears back, sighing quietly. ”Y’know were Louis is, hm? Where is he?” he asks quietly, a small frown etched into his features. She only mewls again, and Harry realizes defeat and puts her back down. 

Making his way slowly out of the kitchen and down the hall, he slowly pushes the bedroom door open, his face crumbling at the sight. There’s a small boy curled up on the extremely dirty mattress without a blanket, without clothes in general. He’s so, so skinny, so fragile and small. 

”Louis?” he breathes, heart sinking in his chest. Louis doesn’t move. He can’t see his face that’s buried into the mattress, and it’s a little terrifying. 

”Louis,” he repeats quietly, moving closer and slowly sinking down onto the mattress. Louis still doesn’t answer. Sighing quietly, Harry reaches out to wrap an arm around Louis, tugging him carefully up and into his lap. Louis’ clinging onto the phone for dear life and he realizes that they’re still connected. Carefully, he moves the phone out of his grip and disconnects the call before he looks down at him. Louis’ hair has grown out quite a bit, and his greasy hair is covering his eyes. He wonders when the last time Louis had showered. Harry pulls his hair to the side, and his eyes are empty. They’re not the blue, passion-filled, wide eyes that Harry fell in love with. They’re not the sad, grey eyes that he fell out of love with. They’re simply empty. There’s nothing there. Louis stares up at Harry and opens his mouth, then shuts it, a shaky breath leaving his lips.

”They’re back,” He painfully croaks. 

”Tell me, Louis,” he whispers, keeping the boy tight to his chest, so tight that he’s afraid his frail, little body may snap. ”Tell me who’s back.”

Louis just sits there for a long time, just stares. 

”The voices.” 

Harry honestly cannot trust himself at this point. The last time Louis mentioned the voices, he claimed that they were the reason for this, and Harry left. He ran out and escaped, dumped Louis to drown by himself while Harry swam to the surface. But Louis is so close to drowning, but he can’t- Harry can’t tug him any deeper than he already is. Wrapping his arms around him a little tighter, he closes his eyes. Louis smells of puke and sweat, but Harry honestly doesn’t mind, because his pulse is low. He looks like he’s seconds away from slipping away from Harry forever. 

”Okay,” he mumbles, slowly picking Louis’s phone up. He holds Louis to his chest as he dials 911. He makes sure to keep him close and to keep him protected, from himself, or maybe from the monsters inside of his mind. He keeps his voice quiet as he speaks into the phone. When he has addressed where they are, he hangs up, holding his little boy to his chest. 

Louis feels safe for the first time in ages. Of course, he kind of wants to scream at Harry. He wants to punch, hit, and fucking ruin him. He left Louis alone in the dark to battle his own demons, he left him when he needed him the most. But now it’s so different. Louis can’t move. His vision is blurred with black spots, and his chest is aching so badly that he thinks if he ripped open his own chest, it would hurt less. 

Everything else passes as a blur– the paramedics, the ambulance, the everything. All Louis does is stare up at Harry. He stares, and he searches for reassurance, but all that’s there is panic. He can see that Harry is clearly crying, or screaming. Louis can’t tell. He also knows that the paramedics are asking him questions, trying to get some sort of response out of him. But his body won’t respond to his brain, and it’s so nice. His brain is silent the first time in forever. Everything is so quiet, so undeniably silent. He knows he hasn’t properly killed off his demons, but then again the quietness is so soothing and so incredibly calming. By the time he’s at the hospital, he’s falling unconscious, slowly drifting away. 

-

It’s six in the morning. 

Harry is exhausted, but his nails have been gnawed down to the point where it almost seems like his nails are going to be gone. He’s been pacing the floor so much that he’s dizzy. Louis’s been in there for so long, and he doesn’t see why he’s not allowed to come in. Even if Louis isn’t awake, he just needs him to be aware that he’s here now, that he’s here and Louis isn’t alone. God, Harry feels so fucking selfish and so terrible. He’s just- he didn’t realize, didn’t think about how much Louis needed him and craved for somebody to keep him grounded and... safe. Louis needed Harry more than anything, and Harry had failed. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore, because it’s too late now. It’s too late for Harry to fix him, for him to pick him up at all. It’s been eight hours since he found him, and he’s starting to grow restless to the point where he may or may not break down the door. 

Just when that thought appears, a young nurse steps out. A gentle smile spreads across her lips. She looks almost apologetic in a way. ”You can see him now. He’s conscious and his brain activity is just fine. His blood sugar is still intensely low, but we’re working on it now, and we will talk about the options for what he needs in order to recover properly. His condition clearly has something to do with a mental disease, and after he’s gotten some rest and protein into him, we can speak about the options,” she says softly. Harry relaxes a little at that, nodding quietly. ”Yeah, uh- yeah, alright.”

She’s about to leave when she turns around, raising her eyebrows. ”Oh, and I assume you’re his husband, yes?” She asks, tilting her head to the side. ”You need to be family to be able to see him, but he did mention that you were.” 

Harry just stares for a long time, before he simply nods his head, raking his teeth over his bottom lip. ”Of course- uh, yeah, of course. Husband. Right,” he mumbles, blinking a few times. The nurse gives him a pointed look with a small smile before she walks out, leaving the door to Louis’ room slightly open. Harry has to take a deep breath before he slowly makes his way inside, stopping at the doorway. Louis is sitting up in the bed with a small frown. His lips are pursed a little, and his hands are fumbling with the hospital bedding. There are tubes going into his arms and one into his neck, probably providing the beneficial nutrients he so perilously needs to stay alive at this point. 

”Hi,” he breathes, looking up at Harry with wide, nervous eyes. It reminds him that Louis is only a boy, really. Even if he’s technically twenty two, he’s just like a baby kitten, cuddly, and soft, and lovely, but nothing like the feisty little fireball he was at eighteen. 

”Hey,” he quietly greets, his eyebrows furrowed. He takes his time as he walks slowly over to Louis, sinking into the bed right beside him and placing a big hand over Louis’ tiny, bony one. ”How’re you feeling?” 

Louis laughs bitterly at that, because yeah, of course Harry’s going to come at him now, come with this pity shit. Harry left him. Pf course he’s only caring now since Louis is dying. ”And what’s it to you?”

”Louis.”

”Harry.”

Louis stares right back at him. The atmosphere in the room is so bitter, and it’s like things are how they used to be. If somebody didn’t know Louis that well, and if he wasn’t sitting in a damn hospital bed, then that somebody would probably think he was strong. Strong and not- not this. 

”I hope you know what a fucking arse you’ve been. I hope you realize how much you fu-”

Harry cuts him off by pressing his lips to Louis' lips, and his hands gently cup Louis' cheeks, like he always is, like he always was. Louis sort of melts into him in a way, but it’s unfamiliar now. he isn't used to kisses, to care, and to love. Slowly pulling away, he sighs, staring down at his hands. 

”I needed you.” Louis whispers. 

”I know,” Harry breathes, fumbling with his long fingers.

”And you left. You left me all alone.”

”That too. I know.”

”And- and Harry, I still need you. It’s- Harry, you don’t- you don’t understand what it’s like to be so fucking alone. You don’t know what it felt like to wake up at four in the morning from a terrible nightmare and feel like something is tearing you apart from the inside, to scream, and cry, and nobody- nothing could hear me. You were gone, and you wouldn’t even- you didn’t even answer your fucking text messages, Harry. You’re a fucking- fuck you. Fuck you, I needed you, and I still do. If you’re going to leave me again, then I need you to get the fuck out of this room, because I’m so-” Louis is sobbing by now, choked tears leaking from his eyes. Harry can tell Louis' trying so hard, and it’s breaking Harry’s heart in two. Honestly. 

So, Harry holds him. He holds him and he kisses him and he assures him. He helps him find land, drags him up from the dark water and helps him climb up on to the shore so he can breathe. Louis is a hurricane, and he is drowning in his own destruction and misery. He is a victim of himself, and Harry won’t fix it. He realizes this: Diseases cannot automatically be fixed by being loved. Harry cannot change Louis’s mind by unconditional love, cannot kill the demons rustling around in Louis’s messed up head. But he can quiet them down, and give Louis what he isn’t able to give himself. He can take him away, but not the way alcohol does or the way weighing three pounds less does. However, he can for once take his mind off the pain, even if it is just for a little bit. 

 

Maybe this won’t work out. Maybe this will take a year, two years. Maybe it’ll take six years and every type of therapy to bring Louis back to him, his feisty, lovely, darling Louis, but Harry won’t leave.

Not ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> if you did like it tho talk to me!!! my tumblr is fuckedoutstyles, and I'm lonely


End file.
